Bookshelf: Kimmel, Rakoff & Didion (Oh My!)

When I blogged about notable books I couldn't get through, it occurred to me that it would be even more fun to talk about ones I could. Let me preface this post by saying I read nonfiction almost exclusively these days -- just as with television and films, I turned a corner years ago where I just found real life to be infinitely more fascinating than anything someone could make up -- so skipping "The Imperfectionists" might be easier than it looks. Here's a quick look at what's landed on my nightstand in recent weeks. Feedback and recommendations highly welcomed!

"A Girl Named Zippy"

"A Girl Named Zippy" by Haven Kimmel. I'd heard about this one for years yet remained leery of a story about a young gal growing up in small-town Indiana. (How could this possibly be good?) What a fool I was! "Zippy" is without a doubt the most delightful memoir I've ever read , a refreshingly happy childhood told through the eyes of a child -- little Zippy reminded me of a Midwestern Scout Finch -- but for an adult audience. (Frank Anthony Polito's "Band Fags" -- which came out after but I read before -- had a similar appeal.) I laughed and smiled throughout, it's no wonder this was a New York Times No. 1 bestseller. Anyone read any other Kimmel?

"Fraud"

David Rakoff is someone you may not know by name, but are likely familiar with. (I think of him as kind of a brainier David Sedaris.) If you're a magazine junkie, you've likely read one of his hilarious essays from over the years -- his piece that appeared in New York mag's "My First New York" is a classic! -- or at the very least have seen one of his memorable appearances on "The Daily Show." (Jon Stewart is a huge fan.) NPR types know him from "This American Life." Having heard mutual friends gush about David for years, I finally decided to take our relationship to the next level, and here's what I found. All three of his essay collections are pure fun -- FYI: Barnes & Noble conveniently keeps "Fraud" and "Don't Get Too Comfortable" in the "Essays" section, while "Half-Empty" sits alone three floors down in the "Humor" aisle (and they wonder why they're going out of business) -- with each having its own memorable high point.

"Don't Get Too Comfortable"

His story about going out drinking with his fellow editorial-assistant nobodies in "Fraud," his road to citizenship in "Don't Get Too Comfortable" and his work -- and termination -- on the set of "The First Wives Club" in "Half-Empty" will have you laughing out loud. (Fair warning: Prepare to feel like you have the worst vocabulary in the world.)

"Half-Empty"

In addition, "Half-Empty" -- his most recent and the winner of the 2011 Thurber Prize for American Humor -- ends with two particularly moving stories, about the death of his therapist, and his battle with a recurrence of cancer. (No surprise, I tend to favor his more personal essays over his journalistic ones, although they're all great reads.) Next up for Mr. Rakoff? "Mutually Assured Destruction," a collection of rhyming stories undoubtedly inspired by poor Helen, aka The Girl Who Ruined Christmas.

"Blue Nights"

And finally ... Although she's been writing books for nearly 50 years, Joan Didion wasn't really on my radar until "The Year of Magical Thinking"came out in 2005. (It won the National Book Award for Nonfiction that year.) I bought it but never read it, then found out a blog pal of mine was good friends with Didion's daughter, Quintana, so picked up "Blue Nights" over the weekend, the new book in which Didion reflects on her only child's unexpected death, and examines her fears regarding illness and growing old. If solipsism isn't your cup of tea, stay away from this one. But I eat this stuff for breakfast -- KENNETH IN THE (212)! -- and while "Blue Nights" reads more like a doodle pad compiled on a shrink's sofa than a coherent book, all of the Hollywood and New York City name-dropping and glamorous parties and travels are more than enough to keep me engrossed, just as hearing a mother beat herself up for mistakes she might have made is enough to break my heart. Am now curious about Didion's 1979 essay collection, "The White Album," in which she recounts prison meetings with Linda Kasabian, a former member of the Manson family who was testifying against the group for the grisly Tate/LaBianca murders.

Haven't decided what's next -- might need a break from the "mourning lit" -- so am considering some of the following dust-covered titles on my shelf:

"The Devil in the White City" by Erik Larson. (A gift from a friend that sounds right up my ally -- I'm obsessed with serial killers.)

"The Berlin Stories" by Christopher Isherwood. (Can you believe I've never read it? Bought it 'cause Michael and I were headed there for our 10-year anniversary, but then we moved things to Hawaii later this month. Would it be weird to read it on the beach?!)

"Lucking Out: My Life Getting Down and Semi-Dirty in '70s New York" by James Wolcott. (Another gift. It sounds like my kind of book -- Wolcott was a longtime Village Voice writer and I love "old" New York -- but a first attempt at reading it fell flat, as he went on and on and on with all these minute details about coworkers that I had never heard of and don't care about. Time to give it another chance?)